The Sun and the Moon
by veronca
Summary: Revised DxL. Contents: romanticangstyfluff.


_I know, that DMC1 told us that Trish was created to be the mother of Dante, as Mundus says, "If you wanted a mother, I can create as many as you want, just like I created Trish." Crack fics aside, I just wanted to be serious with this one shot.__

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All of us go through angst and identity crises.

And even when you write in a specific context,

you still tap into that subtext of emotions that we all feel about love and hope,

and mothers and obligations and responsibilities.  
**_Amy Tan_ **

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**IN THE END OF TIME  
**  
Has it been a century?

Lady reflected on the years and the endless days and nights, the child she had bore a century ago is now grown, he has become an adolescent young man, beautiful like his father, or as some would say, stunningly remarkable and memorable as his mother. She had given up her human blood in compensation for the wrongs she has done. To cleanse her sins and become one of the pure and so as one of repented; she stands there in front of the ocean of sky beyond the palatial walls of her homeland. She looked not a day older and why shouldn't she?

She is after all an immortal before and now, and the distance of existence between the times of her child's birth to the current time in place brought her only a sad despondent sort of misery. And so it is no shame for her to weep in private when no one could witness, but to identify in your spirit that she, too, wept for the expansion of stretched endlessness, the one individual whose eyes, the eyes she could never again behold, his touch, kisses that could never lessen no matter how many endurable tasks she has had to bear to wipe him out of her mind. Stamping out his memory would be easier as another year passes or so she had thought.

Her private tears would be penalized, for tears are forbidden when the entity was a man, even more so for one who possesses any traces of demons blood. This would cause a lessening of her own given mighty powers, diminishing her life-force closer to a mere mortal.

The echoes of her songstress voice spoke in whispered litany; I could see his eyes when I close mine, she laments to herself. Her lips barely moving in a wordless prayer: even her voice, that fairest resonance, taken from her when her tears fell. But worse than her wound, poorer even than her soundless indignity--was the coolness of his face, the coldness of his eyes; a stone grey cerulean pallid shade, poisoned, betrayed….hurt.

There was a brief letter at her white chamber, a familiar scent of something long ago, the lines of the signature discernible against the smudges of the desiccated material. It was odd really, the invitation to meet at the edge of her universe, the peripheral zone of her landscape of heavens. It was out of curiosity that she decided to go and though it was out of her character not to mention about the letter for fear of those who would want to guard her, persuade her not to go and perhaps allow someone else to go in her stead.

No, she thought with finality.

With annoyed feelings in her head, she cried out in the silence of her mind; I am not a child who everyone seems to feel that I am, desperately trying to protect me from all sorts of evil when ironically, I had been with the worst of them, the most notorious of all and all of them! With a slight tug at her heart this brought her not only memories so pure and wild but a reminiscence of something she did not quite expect; grief.

She had left her woes in that placement of time, so long ago, the child's spirit imprisoned within her hazy past when compassion was ripe and deserved. The way to the edges of the universe took her some time and she could only go as far as the perimeter of the celestial plain of the atmosphere--where the purple skylight and scattered dust particles of floating soft metal parted at her arrival.

The transfer to her angelic state became difficult due to the tears of sorrow she had spilled over the empty years but it was still stable enough for her to last even for this unusual meeting, her inquisitiveness brought her here at the tangential corner of instance. Her god-given wings glow yellow-white against the amethyst windowpane of a sky, accentuating the wetness of her own eyes. In the event of something bad should happen, she equipped a silent prayer and an increase of power, the sword and keepsake firearm at her sides.

It seemed as if the quiet atmosphere sizzled razor-sharp, a vigil of an oncoming electrical storm awaits. She would remain there in that boundary terrestrial firmament, waiting for someone, _something_. Even as the hours wore on, she lowered her head from the tireless effort of her floating wings delicately hovering behind the small of her back, her red-blue eyes, shadings of dark bright prisms, half closed; the loveliness of her hands lingering near her weapons. It was not that she was becoming drained; it was never like this, if only, she reflected: If only she had not shed a single tear.

That was the rule. There were always rules anywhere you went.

Then she would have remained ever so physically powerful as she was then but the century had lessened her hold in the course of that open sorrow that trickled silently in her bed when the thousand distant moons touched the ocean of skylight above her window.

A prayer still whispered on her full mouth; a soft feminine voice resound the litany of her words. She did not even lift her face at his arrival, the vain incantation never immobile on her pink lips. Then, all she could see was his face: The silver glory of his hair, the glint of luminous azure sharp eyes, his strong lean muscular body emerging from that protected filament, and the finality of his set lips. _Did she fail to notice that his eyes were bitter steel, anger and hatred written there?_

"At last." He grated out.

His voice, deep and full of conviction, "I've never wanted to loathe a woman so much than I do you and I've had a century to indulge in that misery."

His hands tighten in fists near his signature weapons, and he looked as if he meant to murder her. "I would have thought time would have changed your appearance to something akin to Nelo Angelo was privy to--_pitiable fucking bastard_."

Lady hastily recovers from the shock of his appearance, the exquisiteness of her face a myriad of expressions; a joyful stunned look, perplexed, indifference then lastly turning livid.

"How dare you!" she spat out.

The tight grip around her weapon readied at his throat. "This is forbidden territory for the likes of your breed, go no further or I'll cut you dead. You're a demon and you can never be welcomed."

She sounded so convincing, the true terror of her passion spilling out of humiliated fury, that to think she had wasted years; a mortals lifetime of tears for this demon who dares to terrorize her in her own border, both of them hovering in that purple windowpane.

He sneered, glancing carefully around, ignored the weapon close to his neck. He relaxed slightly, realizing he didn't want to begin this way, but the sight of her invoked deep seated memories that pained him worse than death could possibly bring. She was so beautiful, immortal as he, hadn't ripened a day over the course of that empty displacement of time. He made his avowal to drive the sword back into the stone.

"Not here, Lady. I know a place where we can combat our differences. I do want your hide and I mean to take it from you physically." He threatened.

"By all means, lead the way."

There wasn't any room for discussion about leaving a message for her hasty departure or the fact that she could be tricked into a corner where he would have the advantage over her. It didn't matter anyway, she considered silently, flying through the black cosmos of existence; the brilliant chaotic placement of stars lighting their path to his desired destination.

He led her further than where she wanted, the question forming in her head as to how far and more importantly: Will she be able to go through with destroying him if the opportunity arise? If he could pierce her heart as he has these long vacant years, hollow reminders of their passionate union.

It gave her rancor as the memory of their coming together burned her cheeks, shame and guilt wracked at her and the bile of sorrow threatening to climb up from her throat. She nearly doubled over at the effort of this distance in space, floating behind the strength of his powers. He still has his powers, intact and pure, _although the borrowed powers I had given him, _she thoughtfully ventured, _have disappeared_. _It was just as well. I wonder though_--a spark of insight flashed in her mind--_If he misses them?_

Dizzy from the exertion of her unnatural given powers, she nearly doubles over, feeling faint from the long flight and she chokes, coughing lightly to stop the bile that inches its way up. Dante had been so caught up in his own thoughts, focusing on the purposeful journey to his preferred purpose. He had heard her and turns, surprised to see her looking frail and wrought, the perfect timing of his reflexes catching her as she nearly fell in the vast plains of space.

He held her against him, the feel of her body feathery light and the soft sweet exhale of her breath against his cheek, her eyes like jeweled wet amethysts sparkling brighter than any star. She took his breath away and the lonely years had emptied his heart and his soul, he could not believe she still affected him this way.

Lady attempted to push at his chest, it was embarrassing for her to appear so weak like this and she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of ripping her apart before her strength wore out. Her struggling, though, were pointless as he held her firmly, his black wings spanned out, blending with the dark space of their backdrop. His voice, gentler now, spoke against her hair; the cosmos surrounding them ate up the sounds of their voices and movements.

_I've come home to you, Lady. What good is living eternity without you to love and hate eternally?_

Even immortals have an end, Dante whispers in his mind, and the heavens open up the way to their ascent.

**_The blue rose of heaven gives way to their undying love._**

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**_A/N The blue rose of heaven is a reference to the Mary in the bible. Dante Alighieri refers to Mary with roses, and thus how she was associated with roses._**


End file.
